EPILOGUE,

THE sages for authority, pray, look
Seneca's morals, or the copy-book-
The sages to disparage woman's power,
Say, beauty is a fair, but fading flower;-
I cannot tell I've small philosophy—
Yet, if it fades, it does not surely die,
But, like the violet, when decay'd in bloom,
Survives through many a year in rich perfume.
Witness our theme to-night, two ages gone,
A third wanes fast, since Mary fill'd the throne.
Brief was her bloom, with scarce one sunny day,
"Twixt Pinkie's field and fatal Fotheringay :
But when, while Scottish hearts and blood you
boast,

Shall sympathy with Mary's woes be lost?
O'er Mary's memory the learned quarrel,
By Mary's grave the poet plants his laurel,
Time's echo, old tradition, makes her name

1 ["I recovered the above with some difficulty. I believe it was never spoken, but written for some play, afterwards withdrawn, in which Mrs. H. Siddons was to have spoken it in the character of Queen Mary.”—Extract from a letter of Sir Walter Scott to Mr. Constable, 22d October, 1824.]

The constant burden of his fault'ring theme;
In each old hall his grey-hair'd heralds tell
Of Mary's picture, and of Mary's cell,

And show-my fingers tingle at the thoughtThe loads of tapestry which that poor Queen wrought.

In vain did fate bestow a double dower

Of ev'ry ill that waits on rank and pow'r,
Of ev'ry ill on beauty that attends-
False ministers, false lovers, and false friends.
Spite of three wedlocks so completely curst,
They rose in ill from bad to worse, and worst,
In spite of errors-I dare not say more,
For Duncan Targe lays hand on his claymore.
In spite of all, however humours vary,
There is a talisman in that word Mary,
That unto Scottish bosoms all and some
Is found the genuine open sesamum !
In history, ballad, poetry, or novel,

It charms alike the castle and the hovel,
Even you forgive me-who, demure and shy,
Gorge not each bait, nor stir at every fly,
Must rise to this, else in her ancient reign

The Rose of Scotland has survived in vain.

MR. KEMBLE'S FAREWELL ADDRESS,'

ON TAKING LEAVE OF THE EDINBURGH STAGE.

As the worn war-horse, at the trumpet's sound, Erects his mane, and neighs, and paws the ground

1[These lines first appeared, April 5, 1817, in a weekly sheet, called "The Sale Room," conducted and published by Messrs. Ballantyne and Co., at Edinburgh. In a note prefixed, Mr. James Ballantyne says, "The character fixed upon, with happy propriety, for Kemble's closing scene, was Macbeth, in which he took his final leave of Scotland on the evening of Saturday, the 29th March, 1817. He had laboured under a severe cold for a few days before, but on this memorable night the physical annoyance yielded to the energy of his mind.—‘He was,' he said, in the green-room, immediately before the curtain rose, 'determined to leave behind him the most perfect specimen of his art which he had ever shown;' and his success was complete. At the moment of the tyrant's death the curtain fell by the universal acclamation of the audience. The applauses were vehement and prolonged; they ceased-were resumed-rose again-were reiteratedand again were hushed. In a few minutes the curtain ascended, and Mr. Kemble came forward in the dress of Macbeth, (the audience by a consentaneous movement rising to receive him,) to deliver his farewell. "Mr. Kemble delivered these lines with exquisite beauty, and with an effect

......

Disdains the ease his generous lord assigns,
And longs to rush on the embattled lines,
So I, your plaudits ringing on mine ear,
Can scarce sustain to think our parting near:
To think my scenic hour forever past,

And that those valued plaudits are my last.

Why should we part, while still some powers re

main,

That in your service strive not yet in vain?
Cannot high zeal the strength of youth supply,
And sense of duty fire the fading eye;
And all the wrongs of age remain subdued
Beneath the burning glow of gratitude?
Ah, no! the taper, wearing to its close,
Oft for a space in fitful lustre glows;
But all too soon the transient gleam is past,
It cannot be renew'd, and will not last;
Even duty, zeal, and gratitude, can wage
But short-lived conflict with the frosts of age.
Yes! It were poor, remembering what I was,
To live a pensioner on your applause,

To drain the dregs of your endurance dry,
And take, as alms, the praise I once could buy ;

that was evidenced by the tears and sobs of many of the audience. His own emotions were very conspicuous. When his farewell was closed, he lingered long on the stage, as if unable to retire. The house again stood up, and cheered him with the waving of hats and long shouts of applause. At length, he finally retired, and, in so far as regards Scotland, the curtain dropped upon his professional life forever."]

MR. KEMBLE'S FAREWELL ADDRESS. 33

Till every sneering youth around enquires,
"Is this the man who once could please our sires?"
And scorn assumes compassion's doubtful mien,
To warn me off from the encumber'd scene.
This must not be ;-and higher duties crave
Some space between the theatre and the grave,
That, like the Roman in the Capitol,

I may adjust my mantle ere I fall :

My life's brief act in public service flown,
The last, the closing scene, must be my own.

Here, then, adieu! while yet some well-graced

parts

May fix an ancient favourite in your hearts,

Not quite to be forgotten, even when

You look on better actors, younger men:
And if your bosoms own this kindly debt
Of old remembrance, how shall mine forget―
O, how forget!how oft I hither came
In anxious hope, how oft return'd with fame!
How oft around your circle this weak hand
Has waved immortal Shakspeare's magic wand,
Till the full burst of inspiration came,

And I have felt, and you have fann'd the flame!
By mem'ry treasured, while her reign endures,
Those hours must live-and all their charms are
yours.

O favour'd Land! renown'd for arts and arms, For manly talent, and for female charms,

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